Wandmakers
by NerdofSpades
Summary: Phantom was going to need a wand, so he made him one. (Part 2 of Wand of a Halfa)


**Count yourselves lucky, guys. I didn't have any plans to continue this, but Guest reviewer Snuggle-bug gave me an idea, so here you go. Go thank them. Another shout out to LK2 who figured out what I'd done with the wands.**

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Clockwork would have relaxed if he were someone to get stressed in the first place. It had taken a lot of work to get everything lined up just right, but it was finally done. His borrowed body was rather plain if he was being honest with himself, but better for no one to remember such details when the time finally came for the boy to pick up the wand.

It had taken work to gather the materials, but for him it wasn't really anything special, just necessary. After all, what are the decades it takes for the two trees to grow to someone outside of time? What were the centuries it took to acclimate the seeds to the Ghost Zone before they could even be planted? Even getting Frostbite to hand over a shaving from his horn was a simple matter of showing up at the right point in time. Crafting the tool had likely been that part that had felt the most tedious to Clockwork, seeing as he had to put all the pieces together himself. And now…

He pushed open the door and stepped into the small shop that would be beyond influential as the years passed by.

A young man poked his head out from behind the shelves stacked with rows and rows of boxes, each with its own wand. Box Ghost would have liked this place. "Sorry," the man said, "We're closed for the day. I swear I locked that door."

He had. Locks aren't something that really stop a ghost. Certainly not this ghost. Clockwork looked at him for a moment. He had his father's nose, his great grandson's chin. The kindness in his eyes would pass down generations, surpassed only by the love of his family's work. "I'm not here to buy," he finally spoke, borrowed vocal chords masking his true voice and preventing the echo natural to his people.

The man, Arlo Ollivander, looked confused. "We're not looking for an apprentice either, and aren't you a little old for that?"

It was true. This body was far too old to think it could learn everything it needed to know about wandlore in the years it had left. He, on the other hand, didn't need the apprenticeship. "Not that either."

"If you're not here to do business-"

Clockwork pulled out a box. The wood had been painted green with a dye only found in the Ghost Zone, so he knew it would stand the tests of Time. The hinges and clasps were made of a blue metal, also native to the Ghost Zone. Inside was the tool he had carefully crafted for the boy. "I mean to leave this in your care," he spoke. "It is extremely valuable and must be passed to the right person. I am entrusting it to your family. Do not give it to anyone other than the one it is meant for."

The wandmaker took the box, a confused frown etched on his face. "If you say so, old man. Wait, how would I even know if someone is this 'right person'?"

Clockwork made his borrowed body laugh. It felt like the right thing to do. "You will know. But remember, no one else. They will come when they are ready."

He did not wait for Ollivander to responded before guiding the body back out the door and onto the emptying streets. He should return the body to where he found it. There was no chance, at the very least, of the wandmaker crossing paths with this old muggle ever again. The man was due to die tomorrow, if nothing else.

A smile stretched his lips. No, this hadn't been difficult, or even tedious. It had been necessary. Time itself knew no earthly materials would make a wand that would accept such an unnatural creature such as a halfa, and the young Phantom would need a wand. Well, young _Phantoms._ Making the other would be a bit more difficult, but not by much, and it would need to be delivered much more personally. He should probably start growing the sycamore he had been preparing for hers and figure out how to convince Princess Dora to part with some of her scales for the girl. But that could wait, just as this one could wait. After all, what were a few centuries in a dusty old shop to a man outside of time.


End file.
